


A Haunted Place

by Rumaan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1405528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to the Red Keep brings back painful memories for Sansa and unwelcome attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Haunted Place

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Game of Ships challenge currently happening over on Tumblr. The prompt was wedding.
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not GRRM and this is written purely for fun.

Whilst the throne room had changed significantly, the feeling it gave Sansa had not. There might be dragon skulls decorating the vast room once more, and Targaryen banners flying rather than the tapestries, stags, and lions that had prevailed last time she was here, but the dread that sat curled tightly in the pit of her stomach remained the same. The monarch on the Iron Throne might have shrunk in height, changed sex, and been smiling at her, but the fear of the knights in white who flanked either side of the queen was still present, causing Sansa’s breath to hitch and her heart to pound uncomfortably. 

Then there was a large warm hand on the small of her back and the blood that roared in her ears subsided somewhat. Arya nudged her shoulder briefly with her own, looking up at her with a quick smile. The warmth spread from the hand resting on the bottom of her spine, allowing her breathing to calm and the black spots before her eyes to recede. 

She was not alone. 

No longer isolated and friendless. 

She had come here with Arya and Jon and they would make sure she left once more.

“Your Grace,” she heard the deep tones of Jon behind her say and the warm hand left her back as the three attending members of House Stark bent their knee before being dismissed from the throne room to get ready for the feast that night. They were the last house to arrive, having the furthest to come.

The oldest members of House Stark had travelled south for the Dragon Queen’s wedding. The Martells had helped win her throne and were being rewarded for their loyalty, and for the death of Prince Quentyn, with marriage between Daenerys Stormborn and Tristane Martell. All the major houses of Westeros had been invited and it would be tantamount to treason to not attend. 

Jon and Arya had both said that Sansa did not need to go. That their presence at the royal wedding would be fine representation from House Stark. Whilst this might be Sansa’s first time back to King’s Landing, Jon and Arya had been several times. The first had been to escort the queen from the Wall. With Stannis dead and Daenerys at the Wall with her dragons, the Starks and the North had declared for House Targaryen and had played a crucial role in defeating the Others and then putting Daenerys on the throne. 

They had been back just a year passed for the queen’s coronation and both times Sansa had remained at Winterfell with Bran and Rickon, helping oversee the castle. But this time Sansa knew she needed to go, to face her demons more than anything else. To remind herself that the Lannisters were gone, that Petyr Baelish had met his demise, that she was safely back amongst her family, and a trip to King’s Landing would not take that from her. She still found it impossible to look at Traitor’s Walk or to see the dome of the Great Sept of Baelor without panic eating away at her composure, but she was here. 

She had survived.

\-----------

That night Sansa sat at the feast to welcome all the great houses and their travelling vassals to King’s Landing. The images from the last feast she had attended here dotted the back of her eyelids every time she closed her eyes, Tyrion’s humiliated face, Joffrey clawing at his throat, and Cersei’s panicked screams as she clutched her dead son. It seemed like a lifetime ago but fresh all at the same time.

She had sat for most the night sandwiched between Jon and Arya, and surrounded by Northern barons. It was the safest she had felt in the Red Keep since her father had been arrested, and she had allowed her defences down, smiling and joking with those around her in a way she had not done since she was a girl full of dreams. She had even danced once or twice, with Jon, and then with trusty Greatjon Umber.

Now, she sat and smiled as Jon took Arya up to dance as a Northern reel started up. The table around her emptied, but instead of making her nervous, she sipped her wine and enjoyed watching the northern antics, the dance rougher and more frenetic than anything the South had to offer. 

“Lady Sansa,” a voice with a southern accent said behind her, and she turned slowly, her heart suddenly pounding, to see who sought to gain her attention.

For a brief moment she wished to run, the curly chestnut hair of the Tyrells bringing back painful memories. It was the middle brother, Garlan, the one who had been so kind during her wedding to the Imp and she managed to conjure up a smile, hoping it looked natural.

“Ser Garlan,” she said and was proud to note that her voice held no tremor.

“Lady Sansa,” he repeated. “I hope you will excuse the intrusion but my grandmother wished to remake your acquaintance.”

Sansa’s eyes were drawn to the table that seated the Tyrells as well as other houses from the Reach. Despite their alliance with the Lannisters, they had managed to play their hand well once news that the Dragon Queen was marching south. They had moved swiftly against the remaining Lannister forces in King’s Landing, and imprisoned Cersei and poor little Tommen before flying the Targaryen banner from the Red Keep. It had saved them from the destruction wrought against the Westerlands. Daenerys was a canny enough queen to realise mercy and forgiveness would go much further than blood and vengeance. She had already made an example of House Lannister and their loyal bannerman, and had shown she was no queen to be trifled with. 

Unable to locate either Jon or Arya, Sansa has no option but to smile, place her hand in Garlan’s and declare she would be charmed to meet Lady Olenna once more.

Sansa had forgotten how draining it was keeping her armour up, hiding her thoughts behind a wall of polite courtesies. She had never relished having to do so unlike the ladies she was currently sitting with. Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery enjoyed playing the game and were more astute than many gave them credit for. Sansa had not forgotten this aspect of them, or how she had been cast aside years before when their plans to marry her to the heir of Highgarden had failed. 

But she hid it with smiles and exclamations of how lovely it was to be in their company once more, all the while keeping an eye out for Jon or Arya.

Her rescue came in the form of her cousin not ten minutes later. 

“Sansa,” he said, with a small bow of his head in acknowledgement of her companions. “I said I would steal you away for Lord Umber. I believe he is looking for another dance.”

“And this must be your cousin. The queen’s nephew,” Lady Olenna said, looking keenly at Jon.

“Yes,” Sansa said. “Jon, I would like to introduce Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell. They were very good friends of mine whilst I was last in King’s Landing.”

By the small furrow that appeared between Jon’s eyebrows, her words were not lost on him. Jon knew that she’d had no friends when she had been last here. 

“Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery, may I present my cousin, Lord Snow.”

Lady Olenna gave Jon her hand to kiss whilst Lady Margaery dimpled and peeked charmingly up from under he eyelashes.

Over thirty minutes later, Jon was able to lead Sansa away, who had nodded and smiled vaguely at Lady Olenna’s expressed wish that as Sansa was in the south, she make the short distance down the Rose Road to Highgarden, mayhaps with her cousin as escort.

“I thought we’d never escape,” Jon said with a groan. “This is why I spend so little time down here.”

Against his aunt’s wishes, Jon had elected to stay in the north, close to his maternal family. Once the Others had been defeated, Bran had been declared Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and Queen Daenerys had been keen to offer Jon a similar status, wanting to make him Lord of the Stormlands. But Jon had refused and councilled Daenerys to pass the title over to the last remaining Baratheon, little Shireen.

Instead, Jon had taken over the Bolton lands and set about removing the unsavoury reputation of the Dreadfort. Some Northern lords had viewed this move with suspicion, suspecting Jon of coveting Bran’s lordship, but Jon had proven to be Bran’s most loyal vassal, being the first to pledge his allegiance and giving the substantial dowry Roose Bolton had gained by marrying Walda Frey over to Bran to help rebuild Winterfell. 

“It is not something that I miss,” Sansa said.

“Do you wish to retire for the night?” Jon asked, looking at her in concern.

“No, it is still early and the queen might take offence.”

But any enjoyment Sansa had managed before speaking to the Tyrells had been lost and she was grateful when Jon and Arya had made sure either one of them was by her side for the rest of the night.

\-------------

“Lady Sansa, it has been delightful to make your acquaintance at last,” Queen Daenerys said, as the Starks took breakfast with her a few days later.

The Dragon Queen had made sure she had honoured each house this way, hosting them privately in her own apartments in the week long build up the royal wedding.

“I have heard much about your beauty and I see none of it was a lie,” Daenerys continued. 

“Thank you, your Grace,” Sansa replied, unsure of what was expected of her. The queen did not seem to be mocking her the same way Cersei had done.

“Your hand is much sought after. I have had quite a few proposals suggested to me.”

Sansa was grateful for the clatter of metal on the stone floor as Arya dropped her knife. It took the attention away from her and allowed her to gather her emotions. This was something she should have foreseen, yet she hadn’t spared it much thought, comfortable with the status quo at Winterfell, and that no Northern lords had pushed for marriage, almost as if they understood the need for the Starks to rebuild and recover. 

“Sorry,” Arya muttered before she dove under the table to receive her knife. She had time to shoot Sansa a concerned look before she disappeared from sight. 

“I have no thought of marriage at the moment, your Grace,” Sansa said, injecting a firmness into her tone.

Daenerys spread her arms in an apologetic gesture. “I understand your qualms, Lady Sansa, but both you and your sister will need to marry at some point.”

 _No I won’t!_ Sansa wanted to scream. _I will never be pushed into a marriage again!_ But the words clogged in her throat and she found she was unable to say anything.

A brush of fur against her shoulder and Ghost was suddenly there, in between her and Jon, his head resting against her shoulder. 

Unlike many others in King’s Landing, Daenerys hadn’t blinked an eye at Ghost’s presence. She had met him first at the Wall, and, Sansa supposed, having three dragons didn’t make a large direwolf very frightening. 

She found his presence soothing, calming her in a way nothing else would be able to do. He also made her long for Lady, lost long ago.

“Your Grace,” Jon said, after the silence dragged out. All eyes turned away from Sansa to her cousin and she breathed out in relief, hoping the distraction of someone else speaking would allow her the time to develop something – anything – that would mean she could return to Winterfell without a betrothal.

“There is something Lady Sansa and I have been meaning to speak to you about, as head of House Targaryen,” Jon said, his hand sliding along the table and grasping hers. “Sansa and I wish to be married.”

Only years of concealing her emotions meant that Sansa did not blink rapidly and express her surprise, as Queen Daenerys did. There was a muffled inhalation of breath from Ser Jorah behind Daenerys shoulder, whilst Ser Barristan, stationed by the door, raised his eyebrows. Only Arya was as unperturbed as Jon and Sansa themselves. The scratch of her ear gave her away to Sansa though. She was as taken aback as this declaration as everyone else, barring Jon.

“Married? To each other? Are you sure?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes. We…er…we’ve fallen in love,” Jon said.

Sansa hoped that sounded a lot more convincing to the queen than it did to her. Arya’s muffled snort of laughter didn’t help matters and Sansa was tempted to glare at her. 

“Yes, your Grace,” Sansa added. “It is the reason why I have travelled down to the Red Keep this time, despite the less than pleasant memories.”

After only a few days at Court, Sansa had realised the queen had a soft spot for the vulnerable, especially those who had been treated badly by those in power. It explained how she and Arya had struck up such a rapport. Sansa’s sister was equally concerned about justice and those who needing protecting. Daenerys had obviously heard about Sansa’s previous experiences here and had spoken kindly to her when chancing upon her strolling in the gardens.

The queen look from one to the other and then finally at their linked hands on the table. “I had hoped to strengthen ties between the North and the South, and the Tyrells had spoken to me about a match between Lady Sansa and Lord Willas.”

Sansa’s heart pounded at the news. Thanks to Petyr, she knew all about the Tyrells and how they had thrown her to the lions. The thought of marrying into a family who’d had so little regard for her safety and wellbeing was unbearable. She would not be able to do it.

“As kind as the Tyrell offer is, I fear I would be unable to enter into such an arrangement whilst my heart belonged to Jon,” Sansa said, gripping Jon’s hand tightly.

“I would not want to step in the way of my own nephew’s happiness,” Daenerys said, amusement lacing her tone. “With your permission, I will announce your betrothal at the wedding breakfast tomorrow.”

The breath left Sansa’s chest with a whoosh, anxiety lessening its grip on her stomach. 

“That would be very kind of you, your Grace,” Jon said, hesitating slightly before he leant in to kiss Sansa’s cheek. “Would it not, sweetling?”

Sansa could do nothing but nod her head. The Queen smiled and called for a toast in celebration.

 _I might not love him and he might not love me_ , Sansa thought. _But at least I know I am safe with him. He would never hurt me._

Once upon a time, that would not have been enough, but now Sansa appreciated feeling safe.

\------------

Excellent, Dany thought as she walked towards the Throne Room. The problematic nature of Jon’s marital status had been solved and satisfactorily. He would remain in the North, married into the family he wanted to be part of the most, and Dany could tactfully turn the Tyrells down.

Dany knew the rumours of her infertility that abounded throughout Westeros, and the questions that arose over who would be her heir. The logical choice would be Jon, her nephew and bastard to Rhaegar, hence the Tyrell gamble in approaching her to seek a match between him and Margaery. 

She would have thought that burying three unsuccessful claimants to the throne would have put Margaery and her family off from seeking a fourth king, but apparently not. Whilst Dany may have shown them mercy for their alliance with the Lannisters and allowed them to retain their titles and holdings, she was not about to give them a sniff of power outside of the Reach.

Any guilt she may have felt at manipulating her nephew into a marriage with his beautiful cousin was buried. It was the best solution all round and at least there was affection between the pair.

 _Many marriages have started with worse_ , Dany thought. _After all, I would know._


End file.
